


Stop Staring

by LizzieCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieCarlton/pseuds/LizzieCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg always enjoyed the influx of naive, young freshmen at the beginning of the year, but this time he had his eye on one in particular. The boy was posh, privileged and well dressed. To say he was Greg’s type would be an understatement. It was all he could do to stop himself dragging the man from his seat and tearing the suit trousers from his never ending legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mycitruspocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/gifts).



> Another Uni!AU. I can't stop myself! For mycitruspocket, because she kindly said she likes them.

Greg had been spending an extortionate amount of time in the library recently. He always enjoyed the influx of naive, young freshmen at the beginning of the year, but this time he had his eye on one in particular. The boy was posh, privileged and well dressed. To say he was Greg’s type would be an understatement. It was all he could do to stop himself dragging the man from his seat and tearing the suit trousers from his never ending legs.

He’d leave the tie on, he mused, sucking the end of a pencil as he eyed the boy from across the room. It looked like silk.

‘Oi,’ Harry sat down heavily next to him, dumping a pile of books beneath his nose. ‘Stop staring.’

‘Can’t,’ Greg sighed. He ignored the books. He had been dreading his third year at Oxford, ever since he had sent his application. To begin work would mean he would never finish it. ‘It’s alright, he hasn’t noticed.’

‘Maybe that’s what he wants you to think,’ Harry mused, flicking her hair back out of her eyes. She removed her shoes and placed her feet on the table, striped socks on full display. Opening a packet of crisps, she began to crunch loudly, receiving angry glares from the people surrounding them.

‘Mm- _hm,’_ Greg answered, his eyes drawn back to his crush as the boy looked up, alongside the rest of the room. 

‘He’s looking at you,’ Harry hissed excitedly, poking him in the ribs and making him jump, ruining his attempts to look cool and nonchalant.

The boy was indeed looking at him, with a disapproving frown on his face. Greg’s stomach flipped and he grinned, winking at him as he reached into Harry’s packet of crisps. He placed a crisp in his mouth and licked his lips, eyes travelling over the boy’s body.

‘That was gross,’ Harry pointed out, a little too loudly, as the freshman returned to his notes with a dazed, confused expression. ‘Do you really think that’s the way to pick up a bloke?’

‘How would you know how to pick up a bloke?’ Greg teased. Harry made no secret of the fact her interest in men was, to say the least, limited. That was one of the reasons Greg liked her. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Harry snorted, pulling one of the books from the pile and opening it righteously. She reluctantly fished a pen from her pocket and looked down in disgust at the words before her. ‘What’s your next move? More lascivious drooling?’

‘Dunno,’ Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat, beginning to feel significantly aroused. The freshman had started shooting suspicious glances his way, which he couldn’t help but enjoy. ‘I might just go and get his number.’

Harry smirked down at the book, suddenly looking very pleased with herself. ‘Want his name?’

‘You _know_ him?’ Greg asked furtively, leaning closer to whisper in her ear.

‘My little brother is friends with his little brother,’ Harry explained casually. She shrugged. ‘Of course... I had _no idea_ he’d strike your fancy.’

‘Fuck off,’ Greg huffed, a little annoyed that he had been deprived contact with the younger man for so long. ‘You know my type. What’s his name?’

‘Mycroft Holmes. Watch your step, he’s a stuck up little snob.’

Greg ruffled his hair, and considered this new information, mulling over his next move. ‘Shouldn’t you go and say hello?’

‘Oh no,’ Harry looked up with a horrified laugh. ‘No, no, no. Don’t think I’m setting you up with him. His parents would kill me.’

‘Hey,’ Greg raised his hands defensively, unable to keep the grin from his face. ‘This has nothing to do with me. I just think it would be a nice gesture to invite the kid out for a drink tonight, seeing as you know him. It’s kind of your _responsibility_ to make sure he settles in.’

Harry pursed her lips. ‘And I suppose you’ll be present for all this.’

Greg watched the boy beginning to pack his satchel, obviously on the verge of leaving. ‘Drinks on me,’ he snapped, pushing his friend from her seat. ‘Now GO.’

‘My friend wants to shag you,’ Harry intoned sarcastically under her breath as she left the table. ‘Fancy letting him?’

 

Greg chewed his lip as he watched his friend cross the room. Mycroft had stood up and seemed ready to leave by the time she reached him. The boy was wearing a tight fitted grey pinstriped suit, and carried his black briefcase neatly in one hand. As Harry approached him she smiled broadly, and turned on the Watson family charm.

Grinning into his fist as the two began to speak, Greg looked on as Mycroft first bristled and then began to relax into the conversation. He smiled politely and nodded, before reaching out to shake her hand. The two separated and, as Mycroft left the room, he met Greg’s eye with a curious, lingering gaze.

‘Fuck yes,’ Greg muttered under his breath, following the boy with his eyes as he departed. His eyes flicked shamelessly down to Mycroft’s arse as soon as his back was turned.

‘Stop leering,’ Harry sighed, returning to him. ‘The kid’s only seventeen.’

‘Is he?’ Greg asked, interest piqued. ‘Sexual prime then.’

He winced as Harry picked up a text book and hit him around the head.

 

‘Bloody hell,’ Harry rolled her eyes at the sight of him. ‘You’re keen.’

‘What?’ Greg asked sheepishly, sidling up to meet her outside the pub. He looked down at his outfit. Alright, maybe he had dressed up a bit for the occasion... but it wasn’t every day that he got to go for a drink with a bit of posh totty. He folded his arms defensively.

‘Are you wearing your pulling pants?’ Harry teased. She had already started drinking, and was sipping enthusiastically at a hipflask, looking eager to get inside.

Greg ignored her. Although he was. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm and looked eagerly up and down the street.

‘If he sees them, you’re dead,’ Harry warned him.

‘I thought you didn’t like him?’ Greg asked sheepishly. An approaching figure had caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes squinting through the gloomy lamplight. The boy was wearing a heavy grey tweed coat and swinging an umbrella in his hand.

‘I feel a duty to protect him from your influence,’ Harry explained, lowering her voice as Mycroft drew nearer. ‘Look at him, he’s probably a virgin.’

Greg groaned lustfully, ignoring the sharp prod in the ribs he received because of it. Poor Harry really wasn’t doing anything to put him off.

‘Good evening, Harriet,’ Mycroft called out as he approached, in a voice like melted chocolate. He switched his umbrella to his left hand and reached out to shake Harry’s hand with his right. His eyes flickered to Greg as he did so, a cautious frown marking his forehead.

‘Mycroft,’ Harry smiled politely, her voice regaining some of the middle class polish Greg recognised from when he had met her in their first year.  ‘Glad you came.’

Greg cleared his throat pointedly when no introductions were made, but Harry ignored him, slipping through the door to the pub and holding it open for them. Mycroft looked at him inquisitively.

‘Greg,’ Greg introduced himself, holding out his hand for the boy to shake. He gave him a cheerful wink.  

Mycroft took it doubtfully, glancing at Harry questioningly when Greg held on for a beat too long.

‘C’mon,’ Harry waved them through the door. ‘You’re letting the cold in.’

Heading towards the bar in order to make good on his promise to buy drinks, Greg watched from the corner off his eye as Mycroft and Harry sought out a table. The two slipped into a corner booth, taking opposite sides and Mycroft removed his tweed coat, revealing a delicious black shirt and jacket. The teen was also wearing a silk cravat tucked into the collar which was more than enough to convince Greg that he was gay.

Grinning, he ordered three pints of lager from the tired barman, wondering if there were suspender straps hidden beneath that suit jacket.  Balancing all three drinks in his hands, he approached the table with a bit of a swagger, deciding he’d make it his aim for the evening to find out. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the awkward, tipsy, flirting begins...

The pub was bustling with customers, and Greg had to weave his way amongst the crowds to reach the table. The air was slightly stale and heavy with the scents of tobacco, beer and sweat. A rowdy darts game was taking place in the far corner. All in all, it was obviously not Mycroft’s natural habitat.

Upon reaching the booth, Greg slid onto the bench occupied by Harriet, earning himself what he sincerely hoped was a flicker of disappointment in Mycroft’s eyes. Either way, he smiled politely and turned to pass Harry her beer. She caught his eye and gave him an approving look.

‘Hope you like lager,’ Greg turned to Mycroft, leaning back in a half-hearted attempt to seem casual. He pushed a pint glass over the scarred wood of the table towards him. The white foaming spilled slightly over the side.

‘Well,’ Mycroft looked doubtful. He cleared his throat pompously. ‘It will be a new experience, which I suppose is in the university spirit.’

‘Exactly’ Greg agreed forcefully. He caught the teenager’s eye and added suggestively, ‘You never know, you might just enjoy it.’

Harry rolled her eyes for possibly the fiftieth time that night, but Greg fancied he spotted a hint of a blush colouring Mycroft’s cheeks.

‘So what are you studying?’ Greg asked, taking a mouthful of his own, slightly warm, beer and doing his best to keep his eyes from wandering. Pretty though Mycroft’s face was, he couldn’t help but want to drink in every inch of his body.

‘Politics,’ Mycroft offered politely. He looked down at his drink and traced the rim of the glass with the tip of his index finger, looking coyly at Greg as he did so. ‘I aim to occupy a major position in the British Government in just a few years.’

‘Yeah?’ Greg didn’t have to struggle to look suitably impressed. He already was. Although... that had more to do with Mycroft’s long fingers than with his career choice. ‘So, I’ll be seeing a lot more of you then, hm?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft agreed smoothly, staring him directly in the eye.

Greg raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the cheeky grin from spreading over his face. At his side Harry cleared her throat. The noise seemed to jolt Mycroft back to reality and he looked away, suddenly becoming fascinated with his wristwatch.

There was a long silence before the teen turned to Harry. He sipped at his drink and wrinkled his nose up at the taste. ‘Harriet, I trust John is well?’

Greg sat tight for what seemed like forever whilst the two discussed a whole group of people he had never even met. It took twenty minutes of suggestive eyebrow movements to get Harry to leave for a smoke, and she didn’t go quietly. Clambering over Greg in order to get out of the booth, she pinched him hard in the process and frowned dangerously.

‘You’re not enjoying the lager,’ Greg pointed out after a few seconds of awkward silence had passed. Mycroft had barely touched it. ‘Can I get you something else?’

Mycroft looked surprised and then conflicted as if wondering whether or not to admit to his dislike of the first drink Greg had bought him.  ‘I have a penchant for scotch,’ he ventured, his hand delving into his pocket where a handful of coins jingled.

Greg stayed his wrist with a gentle touch, lingering on the smooth skin. ‘S’alright. Drinks are on me. That’s why Harry brought me,’ he joked. Reluctantly releasing his grip on the boy’s hand, he caught the eye of a passing barman and ordered another round.

Mycroft stared at his own hand in apparent bemusement.  ‘Thank you,’ he said cautiously, the words sounding very foreign on his lips.

His lips. Greg couldn’t take his eyes of them, they were a soft, plush pink and looked as if nothing unsavoury had ever passed between them. He was distracted for a moment by the mental image of his cock sliding between them, Mycroft knelt on the ground before him. He crossed his legs awkwardly.

‘Nice suit,’ he ventured, once the tension of sitting in silence became all too much.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft accepted his drink from the returning barman and this time downed the amber liquid in one. He looked around concernedly for Harry’s return, before casually asking, ‘How long?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Greg shook himself in an attempt to clear his head. The effects of the lager were beginning to show. His thoughts had been straying to a place which made Mycroft’s last question sound much dirtier than could possibly have been intended.

‘How long have you been together?’ Mycroft enquired. He waved the barman over with an imperious flick of his wrist, and requested a top up by tapping his empty glass. ‘You and Harriet?’

‘Woah,’ Greg sat up very straight, immediately sober. He shook his head hurriedly, breaking into nervous laughing. ‘No! We’re not _dating_. Really, we’re not. I’m a free man.’ He gestured at himself in advertisement, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Single. Very single.’

Mycroft blinked at him owlishly and then downed his second whiskey. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah...’ Somehow Greg’s foot had made contact with Mycroft’s leg in his eagerness to convey his interest. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the noise of the bustling pub fading away into the background, as he locked eyes with the younger man. ‘Single.’

‘Mm-hm,’ was Mycroft’s only response. He tore his eyes away and began looking at everything but Greg, chewing on his lower lip.

Deciding the damage had already been done, Greg left his foot on the man’s calf. Pressing with slightly more force, he posed a potentially lethal question. ‘How about you?’

‘Me?’ Mycroft arched an eyebrow. ‘Why would that be of interest to you?’

Greg just grinned. The fact his foot was yet to be thrown off the young man’s leg was probably answer enough. He finished off his beer glass and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempting to seduce Mycroft Holmes was never going to be straightforward.

‘What are you doing?’ Mycroft asked a little breathlessly as he was dragged out of the pub. He smoothed his hair compulsively with his free hand. Greg was holding tightly to the other.

Greg checked over his shoulder as the door swung closed behind them. He caught a brief glimpse of Harry, who had become caught up in a conversation with a tall blonde girl at the bar and had completely failed to notice their disappearance. Outside, the air was cool and fresh, a welcome relief after the hot, smoky interior of the pub.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Greg asked, letting go of the younger man. He took a step back and smiled encouragingly, ignoring the urge to just shove him into the nearby alleyway.

‘What gives you the impression I’m going anywhere with you?’ Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows in a distinctly sassy fashion.

‘Well,’ Greg grinned, ‘You’re here aren’t you?’

‘Not for you,’ Mycroft established seriously, although his mouth had quirked up into a smile. ‘I have come to see Harriet.’

Greg pouted slightly, before an idea sprang into his head. He needed to up his game. ‘I bet you like science?’

‘It interests me,’ Mycroft shrugged, looking thoroughly perplexed (and a little disappointed) by the sudden change of subject. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Let me show you something cool,’ Greg took his hand again, and used his free arm to hail a taxi.

Mycroft blushed as he was ushered into the cab. ‘What _exactly_ do you plan on showing me?’

\---

The forensics lab at Scotland Yard was not Greg’s usual choice for a first date. But something told him that attempting to seduce Mycroft Holmes was never going to be straightforward. He’d been at the Yard for almost a year now, beginning at the bottom of the ranks as a coffee making intern.

The lab was deserted, although they passed a few late workers in the corridors. Greg greeted a couple of them, and when the Chief Commissioner (latte with three sugars) nodded and smiled at him he could have sworn Mycroft looked just a tiny bit impressed.

As Greg ushered Mycroft into the shining white room, he noted a small smile on the younger man’s face.

‘A laboratory,’ Mycroft stated, in a _nice try_ kind of tone. He walked amongst the equipment with evident interest though, trailing his hands over microscopes and test tubes as he went, obviously eager to touch everything he could. ‘Well, well. Are you going to experiment on me, Gregory?’

 Greg smirked. ‘If you’ll let me.’ He pulled the screen down over the glass window of the door as a young woman passed by outside, heels tip-tapping on the hard floor.

To his utter astonishment, Mycroft _giggled._ Hoisting himself up onto one of the work benches, he tilted his head and smiled invitingly. Greg wondered if the effects of the Scotch were beginning to show, but followed all the same. He rested his hands on Mycroft’s knees and felt the fabric beneath with his thumbs, rubbing across the thick grey wool.

‘Just what do you think you are doing?’ Mycroft asked imperiously, without making the slightest attempt to move away.

Greg stopped rubbing, but left his hands where they were. Mycroft could move them himself if he wanted to. ‘ _Can_ I try an experiment?’ he asked curiously, his eyes lingering on his date’s lips.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Mycroft sighed and rested a hand casually on Greg’s shoulder, patting it consolingly. ‘It’s all very suspicious. So far this evening you’ve intoxicated me, put me in a cab and brought me to a deserted laboratory in the centre of London. Heaven knows what you might do to me next.’

Greg had stopped listening the second Mycroft’s hand had landed on his shoulder. The contact was making him distinctly aroused, and the other student’s teasing tone was doing nothing to cool him down. He licked his lips and leaned in aiming for Mycroft’s mouth, but the boy turned and he caught his cheek instead. He made the most of it and lingered there, placing one kiss, two, three, before beginning a trail up his cheekbone.

Mycroft had gone very quiet very quickly. He shifted uncomfortably on the desk as Greg’s hands tightened on his knees. ‘Gregory,’ he whispered, sounding conflicted. ‘I can’t.’

‘Sh,’ Greg pushed his hands up Mycroft’s legs, underneath the thick fabric of his knee length coat, to land on his thighs, where he squeezed gently. He had reached the younger man’s ear with his lips, and was unable to resist nipping gently at the lobe. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not...’ Mycroft wriggled in place, and then giggled nervously when Greg began to suck on the sensitive skin behind his ear. ‘It’s not proper. People will _talk_.’

‘Nobody has to know,’ Greg said, pulling back. He let go of him, giving him some space to make up his mind. Forward though he was, he didn’t want to do anything Mycroft wasn’t comfortable with. ‘Tell me you want me to stop and I will.’

Mycroft said nothing, his forehead creasing into a slight frown. He looked down at Greg’s chest, and then placed his hands flat against it, tracing the lines of his muscles through his tight, black tshirt. His fingers lingered on Greg’s stomach, just slightly above his belt buckle, and then he looked ashamed and drew them away.

Catching the younger man’s hands, Greg returned them to his chest, and moved closer again. One by one, he undid the buttons of Mycroft’s thick tweed coat, before pushing it off his shoulders, and down onto the work bench behind them. He placed his hand on Mycroft’s jaw and held it steady as he moved in for a kiss. This time, the teen didn’t move, he remained motionless as Greg’s lips fastened over his own.

Greg kept the kiss chaste, not wanting to panic him, before pulling back and gauging the reaction. Mycroft’s eyes were wide open. He looked shell shocked.

Leaning in for another kiss, Greg failed to control himself so well this time. Mycroft’s lips tasted delicious, the scotch lingering upon them alongside a hint of tobacco and mint. He pressed his tongue forwards to flick it across them, and then growled as his cock leapt forwards against the restrictive fabric of his jeans. His right hand curled around Mycroft’s neck and his left landed back on his thigh. He bit down on the young man’s lower lip, pulling it forwards and taking the resulting gasp as an opportunity to press his tongue into the man’s mouth.

Mycroft seemed to break slightly as he did so, emitting a high pitched, quavering moan. His hands, previously placid, suddenly fisted into the cotton of Greg’s shirt.

Greg plundered Mycroft’s mouth with his tongue, eagerly tasting every last crevice. Mycroft retaliated with a display of spectacularly dirty kissing, which contrasted so unexpectedly with his posh, repressed exterior that Greg’s stomach flipped over in surprise. He growled in delight and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, pulling him forwards until they were pressed tightly together. Mycroft’s erection was trapped between their stomachs, his trousers tented obscenely. Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so hard after just a snog, and broke off the kiss in order to look down and take in the sight.

At that moment, Mycroft buried his head in Greg’s shoulder and began making soft whimpering noises.

‘Okay?’ Greg asked breathlessly, sparing a glance towards the door as he pushed his hands under Mycroft’s jacket. Underneath, the thin, silky material of his shirt was heaven to touch. He rubbed at a nipple through the sheer fabric.

Meanwhile, his own shirt was being hastily untucked from his trousers. Mycroft’s nimble fingers made short work of the task, and then his cool, soft hands were pressing against Greg’s bare stomach and chest, covering every inch of skin in fast, greedy motions. ‘Oh,’ the man moaned, into his ear. ‘Oh, I say. Good _God. Oh, fuck.’_

Mycroft swearing in his posh, velety voice just about did it for Greg. Before he could stop himself, he had pushed the younger man flat against the work bench and clambered up to lie heavily on top of him. He groaned as Mycroft’s hands suddenly dived down his sides and slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, where they grasped needily at his arse.

He ground his hips instinctively downwards, rolling his groin forwards against Mycroft’s erection. The man shuddered delightfully at the motion, his mouth opening in a silent _oh_ of surprise.

Falling into a steady rhythm, rolling his hips down against Mycroft’s own, Greg aligned himself so that their cocks rubbed together on every thrust, sending sharp shocks of pleasure straight through him despite the many layers of clothing between them.

Mycroft was whimpering beneath him, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. ‘Gregory,’ he gasped. ‘I... no... I...’

‘Are you going to come?’ Greg asked, already knowing the answer.  He couldn’t help grinning in self satisfaction as the politics student merely cried out in response.

Mycroft bucked up into him repetitively as he came, his hands kneading the flesh of Greg’s arse, pulling him down in order to provide himself with more friction. He swore again as he finished, opening one eye and then the other, and meeting Greg’s eye in obvious embarrassment.

‘Fuck,’ Greg agreed, still rubbing off against him. A patch of damp was spreading deliciously across Mycroft’s trousers, and all he wanted was to feel it against his bare skin.

The younger man winced in obvious sensitivity as Greg ground down on him once more, and he stopped reluctantly, pulling back to let Mycroft recover.

‘Sorry,’ Mycroft murmured, staring at the ceiling. ‘That was rather fast.’

‘You just need practice,’ Greg told him with a wink. He picked up Mycroft’s coat from the work bench and handed it to him. ‘Come home with me, and I can help you with that.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate every single view, kudos and comment! It means a lot.
> 
> My love to mycitruspocket. I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, win a virtual cookie. :3


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